Akuze
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: So this is a one shot I wrote as an alternative to my Mindoir, and it's a lot longer. I'm putting it up here instead of leaving it at the end of Nth Degree, mostly because I think this is better written.


Codex entry: Akuze, Shen System, Gamma Cluster:

_Akuze is a member of an elite group: the terrifyingly rare "garden worlds" list. There are very few actual garden worlds in comparison to the number of stars in the galaxy, and of those garden worlds, only a handful could actually be called "garden" in the truest sense of the word. Forty percent of all garden worlds hung onto their membership card with both hands. Another twenty-five percent use only one hand, but have a grip like a docking claw. Twenty-two percent are mildly unpleasant for most species, and nine percent were downright easy. However, out of all the known stars with garden worlds, only four percent had that special mixture of temperature, atmosphere and gravity that not only encouraged life, but let it thrive._

_Akuze, exists in the twenty-five percent of barely habitable worlds. Oxygen content is within 6% of total atmospheric content, with an additional 75% consisting of nitrogen/Noble gases. Plant life exists on a narrow band between flourishing and subsistence, depending on the morphological structure of local geography._

* * *

Shepard preferred to think of it as the Tent Rule. On some planets, a tent was Optional. Others, a Requirement. On still more planets, an atmo-sealed tent was just a flimsy coffin. Akuze was a tent-Required planet. There was enough oxygen to make it easy to take off the helmet, but grit in the atmosphere made you put it on again. The sun was a bit far from the planet, making it dim, and the atmosphere decreased the low lighting even more than it already was. On top of the poor lighting, the only scenery – apart from the pleasant, abandoned buildings – consisted gray faceless rocks. Beautiful.

His companion shoved the codex entry aside, burying the tablet in one of his many pockets. "What a jackass name."

"What name?" Shepard asked absently. He was scanning the horizon, keeping his gaze away from the abandoned town.

"Akuze. What's it supposed to mean, anyway?" Toombs tried rubbing the grime off his rifle, then gave it up for a lost cause.

Shepard shrugged, glaring at the suspiciously innocent skyline. "It was a typo."

"What?" Toombs gave the taller man a half-suspicious glare. "You're crazy."

Shepard smirked a little. He added a bit of a superiority to gesture, just enough to repel his subordinate; it had become an art form by now. "Not the first, or probably last time someone will call me that, but yes. This planet was discovered by a fairly patriotic Serbian. He wanted to name it Ukase, but the paper pushers got it wrong." He let his smirk grow. "Ukase is Old Slavic for "to show" or "edict." In other words: 'Humans by law.'"

They walked in silence, patrolling the perimeter, Toombs behind Shepards' right shoulder. The ghost town they were patrolling was eerie, an empty shell of a formerly busy collection of pioneers.

"Doesn't feel very homey." Toombs muttered. He shifted in his armor. "Wish I'd brought a warmer set of body stockings." He changed the subject with an encompassing gesture, "Why would anyone want to build here?"

Shrugging, Shepard tried looking at the ground from the perspective of a colonist; it was getting harder than it used to be. His colonial days felt like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, even longer ... a good thing sometimes.

"It looks like there's some good mining here," he commented. "Some surface-based farming would put a lot of forward motion in colony growth. If they'd built a few subterranean aqua-cultures as well, this planet could be a powerhouse in the mineral exports market. Probably in the alloys market within two years after that."

The ground shook slightly, causing Shepard to crouch instantly, clenching his jaw. Toombs was only a half-second behind him, dodging behind the junction of a scrub bush and a former prefab unit.

Both men were well trained, exceptionally well trained. Toombs was a veteran of the Torfan Offensive, the retaliatory strike for what the Batarians had done to Elysium. Shepard himself was an N7 elite, the best the Alliance military had to offer. Neither could have mistaken that rumble for anything accidental.

The shaking died away, leaving only a few circles in the deeper gravel pits to show it had been there. Both men stood warily.

"Two-point-five, maybe a two-point-eight." Toombs spat knowingly. "Nobody else in orbit, sensors didn't show so much as an erg-output on planet."

Shepard kept his longer Naginta VIII clear, making slow infinity loops with its tip. "Agreed. Nothing we can spot … which means we missed something."

An aftershock made the earth quiver. This time though it seemed more localized, beyond the town boundaries in the desert. Shepard could've sworn he saw something arch out of the stones, but the dust cloud was too dense.

The Toombs growled in his throat. "Call it in."

They didn't know what this would mean.

* * *

1930 Hours

Alliance FOB, Akuze

"You sure about what you saw?" The squad captain had immense respect for his squad leader, but the description from the Lieutenant-Commander was … vague. At best.

Toombs glared daggers at his superior. "I was there too." He jutted out his chin, all but daring someone to object. "I felt the tremor, and there was a dirt-cloud over the wasteland. Either we have one heck of a mutated mouse problem, or we got some kinda conspiracy going on."

Shepard winced. "Please, please, please don't let it be genetic issues. I've had enough of those for a lifetime."

The group looked at him for a minute, then remembered themselves and resumed the discussion. Genetics were still a dangerous field, especially when unscrupulous arrangements were made. N7's were some of the most qualified individuals sent to investigate violations, and no one asked about them.

"Buncha cowards." Growled a baritone from the corner.

Shepard twisted his neck. Fey'tok, their krogan mercenary, was glowering at the captain.

The captain, perhaps unwisely, was quick to anger. "What do you think, lizard?" he snapped back. "That slavers took the lot of 'em, or magic elves from the Underworld spirited them away? The batarians are behind this, they always are!"

Shepard shook his head, mentally. The two had been in an alpha challenge ever since they'd landed.

"You're as stupid as you're ugly." Fey'tok stated. "That sounded like a thresher maw; I've been smelling their stink ever since we made rockfall. It's even stronger than the stench of your cowardice."

The captain inflated his chest for a response, but Shepard beat him to it. "How do you deal with a thresher maw, Fey'tok?" he kept his voice even and respectful. The Alliance had hired the krogan as a consultant on his recommendation. Best to keep things civil.

The krogan traced a mottled scar on the side of his jaw. "Only way I know is to overwhelm it with firepower, from a tank if possible. They dig down deep; and hibernate when food's short. Can stay that way for decades."

The captain couldn't help cutting in again. "You mean, _you_ can't kill one. Doesn't mean a _human_ couldn't."

The krogan glared back, but there was only pity in his gaze. "Only one krogan in recent memory has killed a thresher maw on foot, and he ain't here. You are."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You won't fight?"

Krogan had very … alien expressions. But by now Shepard could determine a few tells. Right now the krogan was clenching his teeth. The pupil-slit was a tad wide for the lighting in the tent as well.

"I'll fight if I have to, and only then. Thresher maws are worthy foes, take them on only if you want to eat or clear a settlement zone."

"That settles it then, it couldn't have been thresher maws, or else we wouldn't have settled a colony here." The captain smiled with self-satisfaction. "Don't know why they sent an N7 out here, then, no offense sir. Maybe they wanted to give you a break?"

Fey'Tok and Shepard shared one long look. Both were far less optimistic.

* * *

(2112 hours)

"Hey, Shepard?" one of the men in the Lieutenant-Commanders squad leaned out from his corner. "You up for some music tonight?"

Shepard froze, trapped for a second, then shook his head quickly. "I'm going to walk a bit, get a sense of what's going on." He didn't perform anymore. Not since his oldest friend had died.

His gaze flickered over the group settling on a diminutive, wiry man on a bench. "Why don't you take a turn at it, Ghiaurov?"

The small man flinched. "What, me?"

Shepard showed his teeth, "Your records show you sang bass for the Alliance Choir for a few months, and in college before that. Can you give us a tune?"

A woman next to the Ghiaurov punched him in the shoulder. "And you said you couldn't sing!"

Catcalls and similar encouragement finally goaded their subject into action. Tradition as old as any armed force; soldiers hard up for entertainment would accept almost anything, but if it could be goaded, so much the better.

Shepard felt a little bad how he'd used someone so obviously shy about his talent, but the alternative would have exposed himself…not something he could take for now. _Better to stay cold. Less pain that way._

"All right, fine, but I'll only do some classical music. Maybe something from _L'incoronazione di Poppea_?"

"Lay it on us." Shepard sat back, crossing his arms.

While the unlikely bass began singing, Shepard sidled closer to the edge of the audience without being noticed, and eased back to a wall. He didn't want the others to be worried, but for his peace of mind, he had to get out.

He kept running, long after the applause had died down.

* * *

(2345 hours)

Silence filled the camp. It wasn't the companionable quiet of a living realm; no insects stirred, nothing scurried. Even the wind slipped around the rocks with minimal noise.

Shepard slid from a discarded housing slab, Naginta collapsed on his right shoulder blade, stealing across the ground, making less sound than most asari commando. N7's were trained in stealth, although some eschewed the practice in favor of heavy weapons and better reflexes. Shepard felt that being quiet, although harder in some situations, paid off in the long run.

The current sentry was well positioned, in the lee of a rock that had a clear view. Toombs barely acknowledged Shepard, choosing to glare hatefully at the scenery.

"Anything?" Shepard kept the visor shut, using the LOS infrared link only.

"Nothing visible…but I keep feeling the ground shake, like something big … rolling." Toombs responded.

"Rolling?" Shepard had to ask.

Toombs rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension. "No separation, like feet. It's kinda like when I heard a shuttle take off without the vertical thrusters fully online. Nothing but scraping for a few hundred meters."

Shepard relaxed. Earthquakes, although unexpected, were not a threat he could shoot.

The two watched the unnatural silence. Grey moonlight turned the monochrome landscape into a harsh land of shadows, dark rock in darkness. The silence, even in the hills of Akuze, pressed inwards like a malevolent entity. Toombs shivered … looking as if memories were trickling through old walls.

"Shepard?" Toombs ventured.

He got a grunt in response.

"Mind if I ask you a question?"

Shepard sighed. He knew that tone of voice. "Go ahead, I don't mind."

The shorter man took his time formulating the question. The ground trembled slightly a few times.

"How do you keep going?"

Shepard turned to look at him. This was an unexpected direction. "What?"

"How do you keep going? Fighting? I read up on Mindoir, everyone captured by slavers … if my friends were taken, I'm not sure I could keep going like you did. And that mission you had in the Traverse, with that human geneticist? And after Lieutenants Valdez and …" he stopped. The look on Shepards' face was terrible to see, mingled pain and old anger.

Tension grew between them. For a moment, Toombs was certain he'd overreached.

Shepard finally stirred, re-mastering himself. Hidden echoes of old pain resonated in his expression. "It's not something you can exactly explain …" he began. His eyes turned hard. "Are you sure you want the answer?"

"Umm." Toombs thought about it for a minute. "I've considered applying for N school, I don't know if I have what it takes, so yes, I want to know."

Astoundingly, his admission was met with a quiet chuckle. "Bonus points for honesty. Short answer? No one knows." Shepard raised his hand before the corporal could interject, "But I can tell you some of the basics."

"Some people fight for money. They can take their emotions and hide them in a box until the job is done, then wreak havoc with their pay. Others fight because they believe in a cause, or revenge. History is filled with patriots or fools that really, really believed in something."

Toombs cocked his head. "You fight for stuff?"

Shepard leaned against the boulder, ignoring the question. "But those two types don't normally last long. Either they die before they reach their goal, or they die because they can't achieve an impossible dream. Sometimes, they wise up, quit while they're ahead. Or, rarely, succeed. But there's one more type."

He was deep enough in the conversation that he ignored a heavier tremble, stronger than the previous samples. The younger man looked as if he wanted to be taking notes, but had enough tact to refrain. Something Shepard was grateful for.

"Some people fight to protect the people they leave behind. Family. Friends. A farm or house they own. The Byzantines realized this, and changed their military structure so soldiers could be stationed near their own land. A thousand years later, the Prussian General von Clausewitz would call it the _moral backbone _of an army. He said that a battle between two armies, equal in everything but morale, would always go to the army with better morale."

He turned to stare at Toombs. "But it also sometimes helps to be desperate. Freedom, can mean 'nothing left to lose.' Family is the single largest motivator; the thought of losing family will strengthen a soldier beyond normal circumstances."

The corporal inhaled slowly. "But what do you fight for, sir? You talked about what other people do, but not yourself."

Again, silence stretched. Toombs shifted his feet nervously, scraping them slightly on the stones.

Finally, Shepard just told him the harsh truth. "I fight to live. That's it. I ever tell you about my first kill?"

Toombs shook his head.

"I was a kid during the Mindoir raid. Shot a Batarian in the throat, from over a hundred feet away, beautiful shot."

Toombs looked puzzled. "That's … it?"

The taller man fondled the stock of his rifle. "Toombs, I wish I were some super soldier. I wish I had some kind of magic bullet that could kill only evil. But no; I fight because I'm good at it. I kill, because that's what I'm best at."

A faint shaking caused a pebble to slide off the rock next to which Toombs was squatting. It clattered onto the ground, startling both men. They stared at it for a second.

Consummate professional, Shepard changed frequencies. "Captain … I think we may have a problem…."

* * *

Cerberus Base

Field Director Operative Kellen twitched as her receivers hissed. _Already? The Alliance moved fast. Maybe too fast? Yes, too soon for a full strike force. A scout?_

The code breaker next to the receiver tapped quickly. "They're using the standard encryption for advance recon, only three permutations. I'll have the translation in two minutes."

Operative Kellen shook her head dismissively. "All we need to know is that there is activity. Since it's a military encryption, it's Alliance; batarians don't go this far any more. All we need now is an ID on who's there. Set the trigger for midnight, local."

Beyond the code breaker a few scientists sitting on a padded bench perked up. Their colleagues were busy analyzing the remains from the last experiment, leaving them at odd ends.

"Do you have something?" one of them asked eagerly. "We weren't able to get any live subjects with the initial attempt."

One of her colleagues spoke up, irritation evident in his voice. "Can't you dial back the aggressive behavior of those—"

Operative Kellen waved her hand for silence. "We'll do what we can. Animals don't have control chips … although that is an interesting idea."

The hours passed by, clicking across the counter in exaggerated slowness. The scientists appeared to be keeping themselves very busy, calibrating devices. On occasion, they would tilt their work away from public eye, growing still. Kellen didn't want to know what would hold the interest of such minds … they were paid to do their job, and given free rein in everything else. Should their activities degrade their ability to work however – contracts would be terminated.

Time approached midnight. While the scientists grew more and more interested in their screens, Kellen finished the last of her reports, batching them for the next compiled data-burst. Just as the last keystroke was made, a beeping noise made its presence known.

"It's time!" A technician appeared almost giddy, wide eyes focused on the screens above. Possibly a danger, but the enthusiasm was appreciated.

Operative Kellen eased the control forwards, increasing the infrasonic output. Gauges on transparent screens slowly increased, showing the corresponding stress of the thresher maws. Behind her, the scientists made professional sounding noises, busy over their own controls.

"They can take a higher quantity of stimulation," one of them spoke up. "Adjusting focus to thalamus analogue."

"Careful, doctor," advised another white-coated technician, "the readings from the last session indicated a hyper-aggressive state when stimulation exceeded five minutes. Potential subject retrieval could benefit from a reduced exposure level."

The first scientist cocked his head slightly, watching a camera view. "Good point. Readjusting stimuli for maximum duration."

Kellen smiled slightly. Everything was going off without a hitch. Her smile grew wider as she read the code-breakers report; an N7 would be admirably suited for testing, her superiors would be pleased. How fortunate Alliance Command had seen fit to send one her way.

Her smile faded as a new figure made its presence known. _A krogan? Why is there a krogan on site? Alliance regulations prohibited non-human presence on colony sites less than five years old. The alien fool is risking the potential success of my operation!_

"Readjust parameters." she barked. "Krogan present, get the snipers ready."

The sound behind her increased as several operatives, already suited up, grabbed their weapons and headed for the surface. The scientists were no longer making satisfied noises, grimly intent on guiding their charges to success.

She resumed monitoring the sensors. This was not good.

* * *

Alliance FOB, Akuze

(2359 hours)

Shepard reset his ammunition block to armor-penetration mode. Toombs shifted to explosive rounds, angling his stance to cover the ground between themselves and the tent.

"Repeat: Shepard to FOB" Shepard kept his tone crisp, authoritative, "You and your men need to get out of the shelters ASAP. Hostiles coming in hot."

An inarticulate bellow came from the mess tent, and Fey'Tok smashed through the airlock, shoulder first. Behind him ran Alliance marines … but not all of them. Shepard could barely see in the dim lighting, but there was movement in the tent. The few smaller tents bulged oddly, disgorging their contents as rapidly as the marines could get out, but most had been in the larger tent with the entertainment.

For a moment, Shepard hoped more were coming. There had been a good two dozen of the best soldiers he'd known scattered in the tents, surely more had survived? That hope was dashed as a flexible tower burst from the top of the main tent. A mangled form flew away from the mandibles of the creature; dead before it hit the ground.

Fey'Tok spun, faster than anything his size had a right too, and fired an overcharged blast into the side of the tent. The shot glared crimson, punching through the fabric, illuminating the interior. The thresher maw made a choking gurgle and withdrew, twisting to one side as it retreated.

Out of sight, Shepard balled up his fist and punched his greave. This was not good. Twisting, he snapped off another shot, glancing sparks off the brow ridge … if that's what it had … of a thresher maw.

Beside him, Corporal Toombs fired a steady stream of incandescent metal fragments into the same monsters' facial plate. Between the two of them, they managed to crack something, forcing the creature to retreat backwards into the ground. As it retreated, the ground heaved below their feet, heralding another visitor.

"Pull back to solid ground!" Shepard didn't let go of his rifle. It was designed to fire rapidly for lightly armored foes, like pirates. In a situation like this…he would have vastly preferred something with more punch. Maybe a vehicle-mounted cannon ….

Even across the campsite, Shepard could see Fey'Tok's eyes glowing madder red. The krogan was moving with a lurching grace that gave no hint of the speed he was using. The aliens' shotgun coughed a storm of metal at an approaching thresher maw, then rotated in place to slam the stock of the same weapon into the eye of an even closer monster. Fey'Tok kept moving, constantly shifting his position, almost like a large, bulky dancer. _That's something you don't see every day,_ Shepard mused. _At least, not for more than a few seconds._

The surviving Alliance marines fell back in short order. There had been nearly fifty percent losses inside the tent, the captain among them. However they were Alliance Marines; even the non-human elite of the galaxy respected them. The ground bore evidence of their expertise, gravel scattered with the blood of fallen monsters.

Shepard frowned. All that blood seemed to drive the thresher maws into a rage; the gravel was vibrating, but it looked as if the dead bodies seemed to be vanishing into the earth. It was hard to make out, even boulders were vibrating for yards around those points.

The first two marines made it to Shepards' position and knelt, adding their fire to the fusillade. Like the professionals they were, they alternated, allowing for a constant stream. More missions had ended badly because cooldown timers left the group unprotected; Alliance Marines were taught to stagger their fire on day one. More soldiers arrived, setting up a defensive position, repelling the serpent-shaped monstrosities.

"We have them on the run, keep it up!" Shepard bellowed. He caught the welcome sight of Fey'Tok pounding over the ground, machine gun spitting death at movements on all sides. The warrior leaped the last meter and landed behind the battle line, touching down and turning in one fluid movement.

"Where'd you get that piece?" Shepard shouted over the gunfire.

The krogan grunted, firing one-handed while digging at a side pouch. He seemed to be … modifying his weapon while firing it … well, the situation couldn't get much more dangerous anyway. "Took it from that idiot captain. He's not needin' it anymore."

Shepard glanced sharply, some of the other soldiers bristled at the krogans' lack of respect, but they were professional enough to keep their mind on task.

"I gotta say, Shepard, I expected this from you, but not your junior squad!" Fey'Tok whipped his shotgun out from behind his back with the other hand, launching a burning crimson surge across the field to impact against another thresher maw.

"How many of these things are there?" Shepard yelled back. "We've killed at least a dozen by now!"

"That few?" the krogan resumed firing the assault rifle. "If I had to guess, we'll be running into the big fellas any minute, now that we've weeded out the hatchlings. Good choice of ground by the way. Rocky enough to stop 'em from digging under us, but right in the center of the killzone." He broke off laughing in a reptilian rasp.

Shepard stiffened, "Hatchlings?" he asked. With a little pride, he noted his voice hadn't wavered even slightly.

The earth exploded to one side, sending a shower of earth and stone dozens of meters in the air. Something … huge … was rising within the mass of topsoil. Before the first rock hit the ground, marines were already firing at the thresher maws head, seeking a weak point.

Shepard swiveled, force of habit making him toss a tech mine with one hand. It exploded uselessly in an electric flash, maybe polishing the scales a little.

Two marines in the front scrambled as a basketball-sized ball of fluid splashed at their feet. One of them started slapping at his greaves, trying to wipe off the fluid.

Fey'Tok lunged forwards, grabbing the standing marine. "Don't touch that stuff! It'll eat off your hands faster than a hungry varren!"

The acid covered marine had just enough time to start scraping his gauntlets on the dust before a smaller thresher maw, matching the size of the previous monsters, erupted from the earth and bit down. The armor crushed slowly, protecting the unfortunate man just long enough for him to give a piercing scream.

Concentrated fire killed the thresher maw larvae, but the damage was done. Alliance marines were the best, but even they could be panicked. Several started backing up, touching the looser earth outside the solid island. Vibrations in the ground shook the sandy loam.

"Stay together!" Shepard bellowed, "Focus fire on the big one!" He suited action to words, using the Naginta to pepper the armored head with mass accelerated rounds. Nothing seemed to have a weak point, none of his shots made it recoil in the slightest. His breath was coming fast, heart pounding like a rock concert on red sand.

Another thresher larvae surfaced unexpectedly close, but adrenaline among the soldiers put it down before it had the chance to twitch.

Fey'Tok slammed a soldier to the ground as another acid burst barreled past. "Keep your eyes open, watch the big one, that's how they get you!" he growled. Getting up, he fired another overcharged blast at the larger thresher maw. It must have hit something, as the maw shook its neck and slid underground.

Shepard dodged around a prone soldier. "Quick, before it comes back, run!"

The soldiers jogged slowly, watching the ground until Shepard started passing them towards the town site. Following his lead, they started legging it as fast as they could, dust churning around them as they ran

Having set the pace, Shepard eased up, letting the group pass. He scanned the terrain behind them, but other than two larvae carcasses, and Fey'Tok, he couldn't see anything. Oddly, the large krogan was chuckling.

"Didn't think you had the guts, Shepard."

"What do you mean?" Shepard asked, still watching behind them. Nothing was moving, and that worried him. Nothing seemed to intimidate the worms, not the death of their own, mass accelerator rounds, or an angry krogan.

The krogan adjusted his shotgun. He acted chillingly indifferent to the near-death experience.

"Thresher maws can feel vibrations," he jerked his head towards the marines, "Like, for example, a buncha humans running at the same time."

Shepard looked up in horror.

"I gotta hand it to ya, you fixed it good. Got 'em to run ahead an' attract the maw. You humans are almost as good as turians – " Fey'Tok looked up, and found himself talking to thin air. Further ahead, Shepard was running as only an N7 could run.

"Idiot." He growled, almost out of Shepard's range.

Shepard pushed himself past his usual limit; his second wind would come soon enough, right now his men were headed for trouble. Because of him.

He drew his pistol, firing it into the air several times for emphasis. It seemed to work, the marines looked behind them and saw the Lieutenant-Commander running hell-bent for leather, and drew the appropriate conclusion.

* * *

Cerberus Base

(0031) Hours)

Operative Kellen watched as a member of the sniper team carefully padded over a gravel patch. Months of research had indicated a sensitivity to vibrations; minimizing the foot speed was the most efficient, if irritating, tactic.

"Position?"

One of the researchers motioned towards a glowing display. "They're headed relative east, rate increasing. The position they just left is slowing down the catalyst subjects, solid a few hundred feet down."

Kellen snarled under her breath, they were so close! How could they fail with all this handed to them?

"ETA until intercept?" she forced herself to sound calm.

The scientist flicked his display, changing to a stream of numbers. "Intercept in less than three minutes, less if the test subject velocity decreases. Current probability, sixty percent."

The field director paused, thinking. "Safety team, hold your fire. No direct interference, unless absolutely necessary. Are the safeties in place?"

Across the room, another operative spoke up. "We have No Trace protocol ready; seismic charges and acid loaded. As soon as you give the word, the town is gone."

"Sir, test subject velocity increasing," interrupted one of the researchers, "intercept point now seven minutes. Probability of a successful intercept thirty percent and falling."

Kellen cursed.

"Correction, direction change. Test subjects now headed relative southeast, angling for igneous outcropping."

The trackers turned slightly, the better to plausibly deny observing the Field Director. Her vocabulary was surprisingly extensive, considering her position.

Half-a-minute, and one … _colorful _… diatribe describing the intestinal fortitude of alliance soldiers in general, she managed to become coherent.

"What assets do we have in that area?"

The nearest tech rotated his chair to face her. "We have three charges stationed below the point, the concussive blast should be able to shatter the igneous rock into material suitable for thresher maw passage while drawing their attention."

"Do it."

"Understood. ETA fifteen minutes – thirty seconds until capacitors are at optimal charge."

* * *

Alliance Marines, Akuze

Shepard led the men in an all-out run. He knew they should have slowed for a headcount, but he also knew their fight/flight instinct had been triggered and wouldn't wear off until some visible objective had been achieved.

Farther ahead, he spotted a cliff face, rearing skywards dozens of feet. Thinking quickly, he set and launched a flare. The burning magnesium illuminated the sky for a few moments before it landed. Even on the ground, its pure white brilliance was easily seen. Already several feet were angling in that direction.

He keyed the squad frequency, "Regroup at the flare, we need to exfil, get that beacon up!"

The group, now with a common goal in sight, surged ahead, pounding across the gravel. It took heavy efforts, but they made it.

By the time Shepard caught up with them, the marines were safe at the base of the cliff. Two of the engineers were tinkering with a metal tower they'd constructed out of omni-gel and spare parts, raising its height every few seconds. Emergency beacons were created to be robust, versatile communication centers. In a pinch, they could be used to link soldiers across wider distances, but their main purpose was for taking a message and sending it as powerfully as possible into space.

"How's progress?" Shepard asked.

The engineer looked up, "Well, sir, I have most of it together, but we won't be able to broadcast yet. The central processor was with the relay transponder … and … uh … those are back at the FOB. We can make a new one, but mini-facturing the parts will take an hour for something that big."

"Can't you divvy up the parts? Send the specs to the rest of the unit?"

The engineer looked regretful.

"I really wish we could, and that wouldn't be a problem in most cases, but for this job we need a continuous nano-wire filament. I could try welding pieces together, but the power flow wouldn't work very well."

Shepard slapped his faceplate with a resounding clack; it wouldn't inflict bodily harm, and might serve as a little distraction for the men, after what they'd gone through.

"Typical." He muttered just loud enough for them to hear. "Almost as bad as getting my driver's license renewed."

That elicited a few chuckles. Shepard didn't bother trying to capitalize on that, turning instead to survey the wide gravel bed they'd crossed. Personally, he'd always thought something was wrong with a planet that had gravel beds over fifty miles wide. Pushing that to the back of his mind, he started dividing labor.

"Where's the nearest replacement?"

One of the surviving engineers checked her omni-tool. It flickered orange, something Shepard had always found soothing. Orange was a good color, like a portable fireplace, comforting.

"Sir, it looks like the closest spare is either in the supply building in the middle of the settlement, or back in our camp." She looked up. "I don't recommend going back to camp, if those, um, thesher moms are still there."

"Good point." Shepards face was as emotionless as a rock. "I don't want to get anywhere near one of those things. They're so wrong, they might make even politicians look like saints."

More laughter, but it felt forced. It had been far too long since he'd last used humor; he'd have to practice in the future. In the mean time, the men needed to be back on their feet. After this was over, they'd need both medical and psychiatric attention when they got picked up again. He'd see to it, even if they wouldn't.

"Keep working on the tower. Set up a watch, share out the water and rations. We could be here a while."

Shepard kept an earnest expression on his face, turning to the krogan. "Fey'Tok, can you stay here and keep watch with them?"

The krogan shrugged; an impressive sight on someone who weighed over six hundred pounds. "I don't want to run all the way back to town, gotta be a few miles. Sure, I'll stay here."

Shepard nodded his thanks. He was accustomed to moving on his own, and the krogan was a capable warrior. More so than the erstwhile captain had thought.

"All right then. Toombs, you go topside, keep an eye out. You two," he pointed at the engineers, "keep on that beacon. If you get the replacement parts done before I get back, get it in place and send the emergency evac signal. The rest of you, take a breather; drink some fluids, and eat something. Spell off each other when you can."

He left them then, jogging alone into the gloom. _It's safer this way, _he told himself. _Give them a rest, something to do to keep their minds off what happened. Running alone makes me a smaller target; better me than them._

Running a few miles needed activity though, memories of happier times to counter the gritty landscape. Shepard thought about the squad, how they'd worked together for over a year, how they'd earned each other's respect. They'd fought the aftermath battles of the Skyllian Blitz, been thrown into the middle of Torfan, and battered dozens of other high-risk missions for the Alliance.

_At least they're safe there. Hope I get back all right, but if I don't … at least they're safe._

He relaxed slightly as he moved. The run back was uneventful, and unnatural. The buildings from the town were visible for miles, as was the lack of activity. The ghost town seemed … brooding … now that Shepard knew what had occurred. Yet there were still questions left. _Why were the buildings largely intact, when the thresher maws destroyed all they touched? Some of the structures were torn apart, but not enough to have killed every last human in the colony._

He shook his head. _Basic_ _facts. There's more involved than just a monster attack_. All infiltrators took basic forensics; although the N7 "basic" was the equivalent to most graduate programs. Everything he'd learned was screaming "Trap."

It was very little effort, getting the necessary parts, which added to his suspicions. They were still in their ceramic casings, no sign of tampering. There was even a fully-completed beacon present, self-activate seals intact. Something about that made his shoulders hunch … humanity's age old fight instinct getting ready to light off.

Shepard decided to spend the few seconds required to set up the beacon, then left it in operation while he took the rest of the supplies back to his squad.

The prefab warehouse shook; displaced sand cascaded on top of the finished beacon with a hissing crackle. From the door, explosions popped quietly, deceptively quiet. His first instinct was to bolt for cover, but that urge was countered by countless hours of training.

Nothing moved.

Something trickled through his mind … one of the little known fact of Earth history: During the previous millennium, in the period of a migration known as the "Oregon Trail," parenting skills were in very high demand. A crying infant could be heard from over five miles away; more on a still day.

Akuze nights were very still.

_That means gunfire from the emergency FOB._ Suddenly, it all made sense. The strange roaring sounds, booming under the sharp cracks had to be the thresher maws, working through mass accelerators.

Shepard paused only long enough to slap the activator on the beacon.

His family was under attack. He'd done his best to remain detached, and it had worked to an extent, but he'd be damned if he lost another family.

* * *

_SSV Midway_

(0058 Hours, Galactic Standard)

"Sir?"

The captain of the _SSV_ _Midway_ looked up. "Yes?"

The analyst handed over a digital readout. "We've just picked up a distress beacon, some colony planet named Akuze."

Captain Fenris Stahr read the report. "Alter course." He ordered. "We have a few jarheads dirtside that need an emergency exfiltration. Let's move it people."

As the cruiser and its escorts shifted for an FTL jump, he shook his trio of dice, the only concession he made to his oriental history. They rolled out, triple eights.

A good omen.

Until nearly forty minutes later.

The comm officer on duty stopped by his seat. "Sir? Admiral Hackett is hailing, Captain."

"Put him through." Captain Stahr swiveled his chair to take the call.

Hackett's hoarse baritone cut through the bridge chatter. _"Captain, I see you have altered the fleets' course for an emergency signal. What can you tell me?"_

"Sir, it looks like an N7 job went bad. It's an emergency beacon, identification numbers indicating repurposed colony hardware. There's a registration number loaded with the signal as well, one Lieutenant-Commander Shepard. The records show a task force was sent to the planet for recon 24 hours ago."

There was a pause on the line. The bridge computer systems beeped.

_"Captain, this is a direct order. Get to Akuze as fast as possible. Admiral Kahoku has just informed me that there are potential biological hazards present. Send down a full marine detachment and as much armor as you can spare."_

"Yessir."

_"Shepard is one of our best. If he sent out a distress call, it's bad. Very bad. Get on it."_

Stahr signaled his aide-de-camp, who nodded and activated a yellow alert. "Yessir. We are at yellow alert, calculating a microjump."

_"Good. Call me as soon as you have anything. Hackett out."_

The captain felt an unholy mixture of glee and terror. The circumstances were beyond terrible. "Biological hazard" were two of the most feared words in the Alliance; the Salarians still had a mastery that topped Alliance biologists, if barely. On the other hand … he'd been waiting ever since he'd enlisted to unleash the full military might of the Alliance on its foes ….

He thought for a few seconds, running through the sequences mentally before keying the PA system.

"This is the captain speaking to all ships. We are making a microjump to Akuze, repeat microjump to Akuze. Prepare all marine detachments to disembark, and ready the mobile armor for deployment. This is not a drill. We're going in hot, repeat: This is _not _a drill."

* * *

Cerberus base

(0046 Hours)

"Detonation in T minus 30 …" droned one of the assistants.

Operative Kellen nodded once, tightly.

"Have there been any changes?"

A tracker raised his hand. He gulped when the operatives' gaze sharpened into a glare, directed at himself. "Um, the secondary target designated En-Es Seven has left the main group and is almost at the former town site."

"WHAT?"

Operations stilled for a moment, then resumed. The tracker noticed that while no one had actually moved, he now had a wider open space around him than before. The colleagues in question were very busy minding their own business, highly professional expressions prominently in place.

Fortunately, his explanation was disrupted by a rumbling shockwave. Screens flipped, at the movement stuttering between frames as their haptic interfaces tried matching their operators flailing hands. A soul-reaving scream emanated from a speaker; apparently from a security team member that had gotten too close to a maw-pit.

"Shut that off." Kellen snapped. "What's the status of the squad?"

Eager to remove previous errors from recent memory, the tracker hurried to comply. "We have a dozen men on the surface, discounting – "

"Not ours, idiot, the Alliance squad!"

Stung, the tracker pleadingly gestured at his screen. One of the other trackers took pity, picking up where he'd dropped off.

"Alliance squad is in position, looks like two were killed in the explosion. The krogan is still alive, he just took down a pair of larvae."

The director shook her head. "Unacceptable. Tell fire team alpha to take out the alien, long range only."

"Yes ma'am." One of the specialists started muttering into his handset.

Minutes later, another quiet beeping alarm started its ritualistic-alert. A technician silenced it, and turned to the director. "Emergency beacon protocols detected."

Operative Kellen nodded grimly, shifting to her Command Voice, "That puts us on the clock, people. We have less than an hour before the window closes. Let's make this happen."

"Sir! Target En-Es-Seven is returning to the conflict zone!"

Kellen relaxed slightly. "Good, tranq him and ensure he is incapable of resistance. We've had quite enough trouble already."

The response took time, but she was patient. The worried looks from the technicians had a concerned edge deepening their stance, but she kept calm. N7's were the best of the best; like any successful hunt, you simply had to be better.

Finally, the call came.

_"Director … subject has been tagged, but is still mobile. Repeat, subject is still mobile. Please advise."_

Kellen nodded thoughtfully. That made sense; N7's most likely had immunity to most common drugs. Cerberus agents took any form of chemical resistance with nearly a religious attitude. Most of those compounds did not interact well with each other, rendering the user weak to particular mixes.

"Use the tertiary compound," she ordered. "When he goes down, administer further countermeasures as you see fit."

_"Understood, firing now …."_

There was another pause, drawn out long enough to become uncomfortable. The sound of a tranquilizer dart firing repeated itself, before dying into silence. Someone cleared their throat.

_"Um, subject En-Es- Seven is still following the capture, tertiary compound has no effect."_

Kellen frowned. Perhaps it was just as well she had not encountered any N7s' prior to now; they seemed truly … formidable. They already had one test subject, the technicians had been overjoyed when they'd discovered his half-buried form, doubly so when he'd turned out to be fully alive.

Maybe … yes. Better to play it safe. Regretful waste, but safe.

"Eliminate target En-Es-Seven, use whatever means necessary."

_"Acknowledged. Firing now."_

There. It was done. To her chagrin humanity had one less defender, but the scientific benefits from this project would do far more to protect the human race than one muscle-bound gunslinger.

* * *

Emergency FOB, Akuze

(0105 Hours)

Shepard made it to the site of the disaster in record time. Absolute carnage, and nothing else, met his return. Even the cliff was … gone ….

Destroyed sidearms, half-buried in the gravel gleamed with a grimy glint. What was left of the beacon blipped forlornly, in the middle of a rock pile that most definitely hadn't been there before. Faint circles twisted in gravel pits, one helmet, about the right size for a krogan, sinking slowly into the morass.

To one side of the gravel pit, the former captains' assault rifle lay unharmed. A massive tri-dactyl gauntlet still grasped the barrel possessively. The fingers pointed accusingly at the N7. _You left us_, they seemed to say. _Abandoned us. Ran. We died, and you lived. Again_.

Shepard fell to his knees, ripping off his helmet … this … couldn't be happening. Not again.

Something buzzed past his neck, brushing the bare skin just under his ear, but Shepard ignored it. There was something moving over the hill ….

For some reason, it was hard to get up. It was even harder to move forwards; but the potential for saving just one member of his squad pushed Shepard, whipping at his conscience like an old cat-o nine tails, rusted barbs and all.

* * *

Former Alliance Emergency FOB, Akuze

(Recess Hour … Apparently)

The effort made sweat drip down Shepards neck, with an odd stinging sensation. It was hard work to just stand up, let alone walk over the next hill. But then, it struck him. _Why do I hate Akuze so much?_

After all, the ground was a pleasant green color, with distant crops of candy growing. Birds chirped overhead, pleasant little birds. _What am I chasing again?_

Shepard had to stop and think for a moment. Then, he caught sight of his target, a young child carrying his rifle, skipping away down the hill. He looked familiar, like Toombs. _Maybe a nephew?_ He'd find out!

"Yoo-hooo!" he yelled in a falsetto. He had a hard time connecting with people his own age, but children were always welcome in Shepards life. Children didn't judge, and always accepted, for the most part.

Shepard bounded after the giggling child. He was headed back towards the giant gift-wrapped boxes to the west, where other children were coming to meet him. They had a mix of paintball guns and water pistols. _Of course! All the the better to mix up some fun!_

The ground shook under Shepard; beaming, he glanced down to see several playful Dalmatian puppies pop up to bark at his heels.

Shepard laughed at the dogs' antics, and pulled out his watergun. Fun as it might be, it would be troublesome when the dogs reached full growth. It worked, two squirts to the open mouth, and the puppies pulled away.

Farther up ahead, the running children picked up their pace. The child he'd been following was gone by now, ducked down some rabbit hole or something. He'd been distracted.

The ground shook again, making Shepard chuckle in amusement. Those puppies wouldn't give up, would they? They would just have to wait; he had children to play with! Such a nice change from the tiresome wargames the brass kept having him work on.

* * *

Cerberus Base

_"Director, target En-Es-Seven has just put down three, repeat three thresher larva. With his sidearm!"_

The sound level inside the bunker had increased since the report of a successful retrieval had been received. Most of the technicians had reverted to earpieces, blocking out most of the din.

Director Operator Kellen had done the same, but kept the audio linked with her haptic interface on. From the timbre of the screams coming out of it, that may have proven to be a mistake.

Hastily, Kellen switched to earpiece only.

"Report! What's going on?"

_"Target has gone hostile! What do they feed these guys, he just took out Brems and Kalcen!"_

Kellen scowled. "Are you trying to tell me that the target – in the middle of a thresher maw feeding ground, targeted by a highly trained assault squad – is … winning?"

The only response was a distant scream.

Kellen switched frequencies, "All units pull back. Rendezvous at point Delta. Disengage, disengage!"

She keyed an armor camera, trying to get a better look. What she saw terrified her.

The N7 warrior was … _sauntering … _towards the remaining members of the Cerberus squad. He pulled back his shoulder a split-second before a mass-accelerated round punched through it, then leaned forwards to dodge an acid-blast from the Thresher Maw behind him. And. Kept. Strutting!

A thresher larvae erupted from the ground beside the N7's feet, but the warrior pulled a heavy pistol from behind his back and fired two precise rounds through the open jaws and into its brain. What made it even more unnerving was how he didn't say anything … no screaming, no war cries, and no laughter. Just a bland, faceless mask of uncaring disinterst.

Finally, one of the snipers landed a hit on the Alliance soldiers' leg, making Kellen hope again. The N7 stumbled but even as he fell, he was drawing his own rifle and fired back, sending a triplet of rounds straight back the same path. The first shot took down her shields, the second destroyed the armor, and the third ended her existence.

Kellen quickly sent position updates. The soldiers on site were clearly out of their league and needed a calm head to organize them. She directed them to fall back, while simultaneously targeting the N7 with a prototype assassin mech, K9 Alpha.

Then she watched in horror as the mechanical dog got just within killing range, and was summarily grabbed, hoisted into the air and stabbed through the head. Just before the microphone cut out, she thought she could hear an amused chuckling coming from the N7's sealed faceplate. Not mocking, or even irritated … just, amused. What kind of monster had the Alliance created?

All she could do was sit at her desk, watching the unstoppable skill of the unknown N7 plow through what was left of her resistance. The last soldier was hiding in a garage, when the juggernaut warrior blocked the doors and strolled away, letting the Thresher Maw destroy the building with the Cerberus agent inside.

Director Kellen gave orders to seal the base, watching the Thresher Maw shoot out of the ground just behind the N7. The warrior almost lazily ducked away from an acid blast, then used one arm to hurl a thirty-kilogram package of explosives directly into the animals' gaping orifice.

It was only after the lockdown order deactivated her screen that she noticed her chair was trembling. No wait, not her chair, herself. She was shaking. And couldn't stop.

* * *

Somewhere near settlement, Akuze

(Half-past watermelon)

The little blighters were running away now, making Shepard chortle. He used his paintball gun to tag a few more before they got out of range. The glowing purple dots on their backs helped his aim, but … wait … just over the ridge ….

One more prankster was getting close. That was cute, the little fella had actually tried sneaking up! The kid had talent!

Shepard felt his pockets, the kid deserved a reward for being so persistent. Ah, right flank, a lollipop. Perfect.

He waited while the sniggering mischief-maker snuck closer, pretending meanwhile that he couldn't see anything out of order.

"What a beautiful day, hey?" Shepard bellowed. "The sun is high, the grass is green and nooooothing at all is wroooonggg!"

Quick as a flash, Shepard whipped back and slammed the lollipop into the miniature attackers' mouth. He had to chuckle at that, a sucker for the little sucker.

Before he could admire his handiwork, he heard the dog behind him barking for attention. Sighing, Shepard turned around.

It was a large dog, very large. Probably something genetically altered; yet playful. It leaped upwards, eager to play.

"All right boy, you want to chase me? Do ya? Huh? Doyadoyadoya?" Shepard pitched his voice upwards, in the friendly region for smaller mammals.

The dog leaped again, barking excitedly.

"Well alright boy, let's play tag!" Shepard took off for the giant wrapped box funpark, laughing as he sidestepped a water cannon blast. How long had it been since he'd just played with a dog? Ran through the water? Far too long.

After a while, he started looking for a toy he could throw. The dog had had chased him energetically, diving past in close-call attempts to tag him, but Shepard had dodged each try. He thought about letting it catch him, but his elusiveness hadn't seemed to discourage the animal any.

There! Next to a large plate of cake, was a Frisbee!

He bounded up to it and looked for the dog. It had stopped a dozen meters behind him, whining at the sight of a toy.

Shepard gave a few mock tosses, feeling something click in his hand. The dog followed his every move.

The Frisbee arced upwards, right into the dogs mouth … leaving Shepard strangely sleepy. The dog seemed to recognize his weariness; it tossed its head back as a dozen balloons popped in the air around them, and lay down.

Feeling more tired than ever, Shepard dragged himself over to the large mutt and sat down against it, stroking its flank lightly. It was strange, really, how tired he was feeling. Maybe he'd overdone it … he should probably sit ... down … rest ….

* * *

_SSV Midway_

(0203 Hours)

"Sir, all units report ready."

The captain grimaced. "Launch immediately. Target both the disturbance area and the colony site."

"At once sir."

Tense minutes passed. Scanning stations began reporting points of interest. Mostly in the formerly intact variety. Every time the comm clicked, it was in response to yet another place of chaos. Strange circles were appearing too, almost following the movements of the squads. Then, someone grounside spoke up.

_"Sir … you might want to see this …"_

Captain Stahr flipped his monitor up. "Go ahead team leader."

The screen flickered to life, showing a bizarre sight. A Marine in full armor lay on his back, legs crossed, arms stretched out … on top of a dead thresher maw. A small red N7 logo was emblazoned on the chestplate.

The soldiers' armor was scarred with what looked like … acid burns and mass-accelerator rounds. The thresher maw seemed to have hundreds of pockmarks from mass-accelerator rounds, and one massive chunk of its skull missing.

"Oh … my … God …." Stahr couldn't stop staring. "Is he … alive?"

Onscreen a medic rushed to the N7's side, checking the readouts.

"He's doing all right, sir. Electronics are offline, full EM transceiver is out, acid damage. Readings indicate a high level of stress induced toxins, some kind of protein-based stimulant and burns, but otherwise he's fine."

"Good, good." The Captain nodded fervently. "The others?"

The camera stuttered a moment after he spoke, then panned slowly across the town site. The place was completely destroyed, half-formed prefab walls hanging in smoking piles. The only easily recognizable object was a pile of rations next to the armory.

"I can't see anything else. The other team reports no survivors, but a lot of dead bodies, and one malfunctioning beacon."

The captain slowly bowed his head. The officers and enlisted men on the bridge were standing respectfully, in a position suitable for an inspection.

Stahr sighed. "Poor souls. What a way to go."

* * *

_Arcturus_ Station, Alliance Space

Four weeks later

"How is he, Doctor?"

Dr. Nithal, an asari specialist in medical xenobiology looked up at the approaching soldier. "Captain Anderson, I didn't hear you come in. How are you?"

The imposing human ignored the pleasantries. "No change?"

Nithal glanced back through the observation window. Shepard lay on a gurney, bandages covering the right side of his face.

"He's been through a great deal of stress, mostly physical, with some … _unusual_ acid combinations. Healing will not take as long as my previous estimate, maybe another week, with a little luck." She studied the prone body with an almost _hungry_ gaze. "Humans heal remarkably quickly, almost as fast as salarians."

Anderson studied his protégé, then stared accusingly at the asari. His back was straight, eyebrows furrowed. Had he known, he looked very similar to a disapproving Matriarch, with centuries of practice.

Dr. Nithal sighed. She was caving to a being less than a third her own age. Life was not fair.

"I _am_ worried about his psychological health. He … refuses to wake up on his own. I anticipated a return to consciousness a week ago ... His REM state is high, but the lighter stages he falls into gives me a little insight." She tapped her omni-tool, "I've compiled the most interesting bits. Listen."

Shepards voice was recognizable, slurred but clear. "_Cllleaar … larva down … get a grenade on ssstrrrrr …. Mom,Dad … run …. sighting downrange fifty meters on point …."_

She cut it off. "Those are the most interesting parts, but it goes on like that for about ten minutes. It is too early for certainty, but from his records …." She hesitated.

Anderson waited while machines beeped quietly.

"He has already suffered a great deal of trauma, from what I can read in his record. What is_ not_ in his record has still left scarring all over his body; a trained professional can read scars very well, and I have been in the medical profession for two centuries." Her omni-tool powered down, and she caught Andersons' eyes with a clear gaze. "His body is in perfect health. It is his mind I am worried about."

Anderson sat heavily, raising his hand to prop his chin. "He has had a rough life, worse by far than any man should have had. However, I _can't_ believe this broke him."

He heard the faint rustling of cloth as the doctor sat beside him. "Humans are still strange to me. I have studied as many texts of your people as I can … but I still can't give you a definite answer."

The Captain heard the unsaid "_Yet."_ He turned, fixing the asari with his penetrating gaze again. "But there are other options." It wasn't a question.

She sighed. "If she, your pardon, _he_, were an asari, I would perform the Rite of _animae sanitatem_. It is an older practice, but used often on Huntresses that have suffered cranial injuries. Sometimes, it helps to guide the mind back to the land of the living." She swallowed, "Or … it is possible that he would become terrified and terminate himself. Mentally."

The elder human stayed silent for several minutes. Then he nodded to himself. "Can you do this procedure?"

Dr. Nithal shrugged. "I have performed it a number of times, yes. I am considered well practiced in the technique—"

Anderson jerked his head around. "Then do it."

"It's not that simple," she tried again, "Due to his age I need parental consent-" she stopped. "Correction, I need permission from his superior officer." She shook her head slowly, "Sometimes humans seem so very _asari_, it takes me a moment to remember the differences."

The captain flipped a hand dismissively, already halfway out the door. "Consider permission granted. I'll go through the paperwork, you do what must be done."

The captain returned to find the asari sitting behind Shepard, both hands on his temples. Her jaw was clenched, eyes wide open. Her eyes, even the sclera, was black, tiny lights moving across their surface.

"Dr. Nithal?" he tried tentatively. She gave no response.

Under her fingers, Shepard gasped, shuddering. The asari grimaced at the same time.

"Shepard! What's going on?" Anderson shouted, half-reaching for the emergency tab. Instinct pulled his hand back, the doctor had known in advance what was going to happen. He wouldn't second guess her.

Instead, he sat on one of the flimsy plastic chairs hospitals always insisted on keeping. And waited.

He wasn't sure how long he waited; space stations didn't waste time with windows to the interior. Arcturus station had been built with security in mind, scenery was only for the external levels.

Time dragged past. The two figures were unnaturally still, barring the occasional twitch. Faint blue light flashed around their bodies; near-white next to the asari's body and darker, almost black next to Shepards'. The light twisted and swirled hypnotically, like smoke.

Anderson took to pacing. Three steps for the rooms' width, seven for the length.

His walking stopped when he heard a sharp intake. Swiveling, he was just in time to catch the asari doctor as she toppled to one side. Her skin was pale, as if she'd just fought through an army. She recovered quickly, however, sitting up within minutes.

"The Lieutenant is … strong willed." She answered Anderson's unspoken question. Smirking a little, "It's a good thing he's not on Thessia, he would be swarmed before the first day was over."

Captain Anderson loomed over her like an angry storm, forcing her to flinch. His voice was cold as Noveria.

"I _hope_, you were able to do something more than have an erotic encounter with my soldier."

Nithal cursed herself for flinching again, how _dare_ someone so young affect her this way? No asari would have been able to resist after the first glimpse … but maybe that was the point.

"He's undergoing a … crisis of faith, I think." She said out loud. "It's a negative cycle, going over what went wrong with everything he's ever done. Every time he fails to succeed, it sends him a little lower, and restarts the entire sequence. If he could wake up, he'd break that cycle, but he won't listen."

She put one hand on Anderson's arm. "I'm sorry, but he's sinking fast."

Anderson's chin came up. "No soldier under my watch will kill himself with _self-pity_!"

Dr. Nithal shrugged. "There's nothing we can do. I tried everything, but he ... resisted. I can't think of anything else to do, he has the will of a krogan in a battle-rage."

She let her hand drop as she rose. "I need to process some forms. I'm sorry."

The captain grunted, waiting until she left. He waited a few minutes, ensuring she wasn't returning, then got to work. Thirty seconds was all that was required for blocking the door and shorting out the security camera. Another ten to evaluate the possible ramifications … if he failed … no. Shepard had given more than most, and never asked for anything in return. He _owed_ the LC that much.

"_Lieutenant-Commander! I did NOT give you permission to lie down on the job!"_ The volume of his bellowed order surpassed his usual drill-sergeant voice. This was the same volume he used on the battlefield, lambasting cowards for lagging.

Shepard twitched. Anderson increased the volume, a vein starting to stand out on his neck.

"_**You heard me! Get up and start fighting before I come down there and kick your ass!"**_

The door rattled, someone pounded on the window. He refused to look back, spine straight, chest out. He may as well go out in a blaze of glory.

"_**Grab your gun and start fighting, princess! They're coming over the wall!"**_

Shepard nearly fell out of the bed, shouting affirmation and scrabbling for a nonexistent weapon. It took a few seconds before he realized where he was. He looked up to see Anderson standing over him, fists clenched, looking like the wrath of the gods. Shepard sprang to his feet, saluting. "Sir, sorry sir, didn't hear you come in, sir!"

Anderson kept a disapproving look. "It looks like you've been missing the past few _weeks_ Shepard. _Report!"_

Shepard blinked, feeling suddenly week. He overrode the urge to sit. Thinking back … hurt … fuzzy. "Sir, Akuze …."

He was surprised to see the captain shrink on himself. "I know, son. Have a seat."

The door glowed for a second before it exploded inward. Shepard lunged, pulling Captain Anderson out of the way.

An iridescent blue, and enraged, Dr. Nithal stood behind the door. Coils of energy drifted past her arm, held back for another strike.

Shepards eyes narrowed. His body posture changed from a limp patient to combat ready with serpentine grace.

Dr. Nithal stopped short upon seeing her formerly comatose patient fully alert. Her eyes moved between the clearly mobile soldier to the prone Captain.

Captain Anderson had to smile as he got up. "I'm happy to report the patient awake and conscious, Doctor."

Shepard finally relaxed. He was home. For now.

* * *

**A/N: Repaired as of today, 1/15/2016**

**Many thanks to Lachdannen, TheWerdna, Lady Aimee and Chopped Bread for their helpful review. It took me a while to repair this, but it looks worth it to me!**

**One note; Fenris Stahr is a nod to Wolfstar888. Check out his story: With Lions, ID code 8728069. Until next time!**


End file.
